Thanqol

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Rurik!

Civelia had not always made her introductions so brisk. That was a habit that both she and Sayanastia had been forced to develop over the centuries. Heron generally had little patience for speeches and had, in one of her rudest moves, developed a spell that could fast forward herself through conversations she thought she knew the outcome to. If you were talking to her it wasn't always clear if she was listening intently or if you were talking to the chronological after-image from where she'd sent herself into the future.

The only thing that had really worked at making her knock it off had been to work on their voices. By practicing enunciation and delivery, working in some subtle magical enhancement effects, and cutting out all conversational hesitance and pauses it was possible to delay the Princess reaching for the accelerator. Rurik, for his part, hated using the spell - half the time he'd come out of it either in a fight or a makeout and he wasn't as swift to adapt to those circumstances as Heron was. Part of the act was continuously toying around with the hand gesture to start it, but he erred on the side of not doing that as much as he could get away with.

"Thanks," said Rurik when Civelia was done. He would also have liked to be a bit more formal, but this too was part of the act. The Legendary Hero was as impatient at giving answers as she was when it came to listening to them. He then stood there, vaguely fish eyed and blank - completely unhelpfully waiting for Civelia to continue. As much as he'd have done things differently were he the Legendary Hero, Rurik understood that Heron's mind moved as quickly as the lightning bolt of her heartblade, and it was his duty and honour to not create an expectation that she would be anything different. What a disservice that would be!

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Sayanastia!

All of these colours. In each of them Sayanastia could see the crunch and tear of her mighty jaws. She had thought, when she had eaten the sun all those centuries ago, that the opposite of light would be darkness. It turned out that the opposite of light was stranger than she'd ever imagined. Even now it found ways to surprise her.

"Hey, it's cool," Cair. A voice like the feeling of teeth on her ankle. She sighed and flicked her eyes down, a majestic gesture through her long eyelashes.
"I am not concerned," said Sayanastia.
"You sure? Because you've got like three secret agents aiming heartbows at you right now," said Cair.
"Were you not attempting to reassure me things were 'cool'?" said Sayanastia darkly.
"Oh shit," said Cair. "I mean - don't worry about them, they're probably terrible shots."
"Or they are concerned by the presence of human shields," said Sayanastia, flicking her eyes back up to the Crevas Stone.
"What, noooooo," pshawed Cair. "Nobody thinks you'd do that."
"The last time I was here I rode into town with Civelia tied to the front of my chariot, explicitly as a human shield," said Sayanastia.
"Shit, really?" said Cair.
"Really," said Tsane, not looking up from her book.
"Is there an illustration?" said Cair.
Tsane picked out another book, thumbed it through to a select page without looking at the numbers, and handed it to Cair.
"Oh wow," said Cair. "You didn't mention she was topless."
"That," huffed Sayanastia, "is an exaggeration."
"Oh yeah?" said Cair.
"She was wearing... an outfit," said Sayanastia.
"Do you have an illustration of the outfit?" Cair asked Tsane.
"Stop," said Sayanastia. "It was a military maneuver. It achieved its objectives. And regardless. The point is that I am not welcome here, nor do I expect to be. I will keep my eyes and my hands to myself and that shall be the extent of it."
"Aw, c'mon. They think you're cool," said Cair. "And if you scowl a bit, maybe show your claws, I think I can lean on the timeshare guy to get us some free samples."
"What does a free sample of a timeshare even look like?" sighed Sayanastia.
"It means a chance to pick up some cleaning products, maybe some fresh pillows, break up some furniture for firewood," said Cair. "And it won't even cost us lockpicks to get in. And if you think about it, going to 'clutter thief' would be a huge step up for your reputation, right? I mean, nobody assigns secret agents to aim heartbows at me."

Rurik!

It was a great honour to dress as Princess Heron.

You wouldn't think he could pull it off, but that was just what made it so effective. Not only had he practiced the traditions of the Heroine's makeup from an early age but he had been inducted into the guild of Princess Dressmakers at fourteen. For fifty years he had studied fashion and woven dresses in between his swordfights, mastering new and miraculous designs for the Heroine once she was finally reborn. Everything he had done had been for her even before he knew her; there was no interruption at all for him to continue working for her until she returned.

Now, though, the fire was in him. His weaving no longer ended in an endless room of mannequins. Now he was the mannequin. What an honour!

So he smiled and waved, exactly in accordance with the reach and flow of what he had designed his dress to do. This piece was a water cascade of white stained bloody red; a deathless maiden emerging from a pool of crimson. Wings of brass and gold hovered behind him, gemstones set with the lilac-orange of the Princess' heraldry. A great crest emerged from his upper back and curled over his head, set with crystal shards, part moon and part axe blade. Only the tip stained red as the veil flowed down to cover his face. This was a dress for reincarnation, immortality and war, and represented his tribute to she who fought the demons upon the distant moon. The Handmaidens wore lesser versions of the same without the white, fading instead to pale oranges and violets.

It felt... like he had chosen wrong somehow. The children, he hadn't accounted for the children. This was a dress for a more sombre moment, for moonlight and ritual. But that was to be expected. He only made these, he was not the one who was meant to pick them out. A small mistake, and like all mistakes, it would remain small.

Breathless Dead

Dyssia!

There was a strange ripple in the air. There was a... a sword in your hand. You didn't remember it getting there.

"Of course," said NBX-462. "Indefinite redesignation, it's as you say. Should hold up to Sector Governor level. I'll issue the decree immediately."

He turns to go. He doesn't take the gun. There isn't a gun. There's only this sword, ethereal and silver, surrounded by drifting threads of wool where it's cut through the heart of the Synnefo. When did this appear?

"Hey!" bounding towards you, a golden ball of fur and ultraviolence, came Gemini, warrior of Ceron. "Hey! That's my sword, you big dumb pool noodle!"

Her tail wags. The wagging of tails like this have been turned towards orbital bombardment as easily as they have to playfights or games of fetch. You don't know how you got her sword or what you did with it, but she's ready to throw the fuck down right now over it if you don't think real fast.

Dolce!

For all its importance, it is rare for anyone to see the actual work of Biomancy being done. Everywhere its consequences spiral and unravel but the act itself...

Demeter watches over the work of the Craftsman. She wears a laboratory coat melded with blacksmith's apron, and carries a metal leg as a walking stick which she sometimes idly gnaws on like it's a bone. All about her bloom the fruit of summer, sunflowers opening petals of bones, trees that drop acorn seeds filled with teeth, blood oozing out like rubber from the pierced trunks of trees and rows and rows of intestines growing on a trellis. None of this us ugly, none of this is wet, none of it even looks like the gore that should be inside people. Why should it? That would trigger primitive disgust and self preservation instincts and there was no reason that should be a barrier when it could have been engineered out. Why not make that disembodied nervous system a thing of prismatic coral colours? When that ear of corn is torn open to reveal a deltoid muscle group ready for immediate application, why should it not be the pleasing yellow colour and texture of corn?

To work in this garden of nightmares is no different to working in the little garden that fed your tavern on Beri. Demeter oversees both the same as Iskarot carries out the long work of regrowing Sanalessa.

"A strange harvest for you, little chef," said Demeter, measuring the growth of eyefruit with calipers. "And one I am not sure if I should permit you. I am in a generous mood, but nevertheless... tell me, do you remember meeting me once before?"

Memories through the Lethe. Displeasing Demeter beneath a desert sun and storm. This is a dangerous line of questioning.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Birdsong in the Northern Hemisphere is beautiful. Soft, lyrical, sedate, the twittering of thrushes and the chirping of robins.

Birds from the Southern Hemisphere sound like angry dinosaurs.

The sky fills with screeching. There's nothing like it, no human throat could make a sound as harsh and metallic. One could wake a drunk from sleep. A flock could raise the dead. White birds emerge from every tree, blotting out the sky. Ten thousand pairs of wings fill the air, ten thousand throats screeching their warcry. Together their sound shakes the underworld. These are the soldiers of Princess Jezara, a weaponized mass migration, the swinging jaws of a trap meant to isolate a foe most terrible.

Fallweaver smiles mutely and gives you the thumbs up. Blue lights in her ears - some noise-cancelling technomancy? A weakness. Leaving her unprotected would have left you with no way out.

But before you can exploit it, the machete swings down. One of the screaming birds has transformed into a warrior, bright in full-body warpaint. She attacks in chereographed sequence before taking wing and rejoining the whirlwind of the flock, lost in the storm of birds - as behind you another bird changes into a second handmaiden who launches her own offensive. This is the shapeshifter's chosen battleground: to hide amidst a storm of birds, where any feather might conceal a blade.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Saber... wait..."

Diaofei watches them leave, too weak to follow, too weak to raise her voice. She'd seen the curse in that kiss - seen it for what it was, realized what it represented. Her Servant had started to look to humans to drain.

That had been her first duty. To maintain the barriers of the spirit world. To prevent demons from preying upon the innocent. She'd thought that it wouldn't matter, that she could burn out Saber in one foolish act of revenge, removing her and Actia's servant in mutually assured destruction. She could confront Actia in the aftermath. That would have been enough.

But things had gone wrong. Her creature had slipped its leash and was growing more powerful, not less. What had she done? At this rate...

With aching arms she clawed her way forwards. She had to stop this...

*

Cyanis, dressed in the silken costume of a dancing girl, staggered into the kitchen. Hair frizzled, clothing torn, hickeys on her neck and sunglasses missing, she looked a mess. She limped over to the refrigerator, threw the door open, picked out a bottle of oat milk and drank directly from it.

"Um," said Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, looking at the bowl of dry cereal she had just poured for herself.
"Want some?" said Cyanis, shaking the bottle.
"No thanks..." said Katherine.
"Or do you want some of that?" Cyanis asked, gesturing back at the bedroom she'd emerged from.
"Um," said Kat, blushing furiously.
"Why not?" said Cyanis, taking another sip of milk. "Lot of benefits to it. Mana transfer. Educational. Get to practice your dancing moves. And I've already tired her out for you so it'll be an easy ride."
"Uh, um," said Kat. "I'm kind of saving myself for... someone special."
"So what?" said Cyanis, wiping her mouth with her sleeve before dropping the veil back into place. "I am too."
Kat looked at her with incredulity. She opened her mouth, spread her hands, and gave the expression of someone who had been pushed well past the limits of what could be passed off as a foxgirl lie.
"What?" said Cyanis. "It was in the butt. It doesn't count if it's in the butt."
"Um!!!" squeaked Kat.
"That's fox law probably," said Cyanis.
"It's probably not!!!" said Kat.
"Anyway, I'll have you know I did a stint in the Sky Castle," Cyanis said, fishing her sunglasses out of the tail fluff where they'd gotten stuck. "I learned a thing or two about hypnotizing dragons while I was there. Important foxgirl skill! You've just got to convince them that you're valuable, powerful and theirs you can get them in the right headspace, and then a charm collar will lock them into that mood. She was eating out of my hands," said Cyanis smugly, "because I was serving her grapes. Speaking of, did you peel all those grapes like I said?"
"Yeah..." said Kat. It had given her something to take her mind off the sound of... Berserker's construction efforts outside as she fortified the shrine.
"And did you get that big palm leaf fan? Because man, it's hot in there -"
"That isn't necessary!" said Kat, clenching her fists in embarrassment.
"Suit yourself," said Cyanis, laying out a cushion and gingerly sitting down. "But I need a while to rest. So it's your turn to distract the prisoner!"
"What!?" squeaked Kat.
"Archer's still fucked up so we can't go anywhere until he heals," said Cyanis. "Berserker's all in on castle building. So we're stuck here with a bored and hypnotized dragoness who can physically overpower us the second she gets her wits about her. So - we keep her entertained. You don't have to do exotic dancing but you do have to figure out some way to seduce her into quiescence."
"... maybe she'll like watching speedrunning with me?" said Kat.

*

Baroness Fallweaver!

It was a popular misconception that Baronesses were, themselves, violent people. This came of the fact that they tended to be at the centre of whatever princess battle was happening, glowing and radiant. The truth was that Baronesses were always at the centre of great battles because they were what was being fought over.

Fallweaver herself had the oblivious eroticism of someone completely unaware of their own beauty. Her jeans were torn at the knees and thighs because she spent a lot of time kneeling down to look at new mushrooms and couldn't be bothered replacing them; the holes showed off the tanned, firm legs of a career hiker. Her shirt held her chest tightly; it had shrunk in the wash, skull and pentagram logo straining against her chest and biceps. Her black and orange hair was framed perfectly by the bright white lab coat, making her seem like an otherworldly angel, surrounded by a halo of ever-falling autumn leaves.

She was a witch and scientist both, her black cat familiar wearing an adorable utility belt filled with glowing chemical vials. She traced the growth of mushrooms according to mathematical curves before choosing the best ones to enhance as arcane lynchpins. Her goal was to expand her sphere of influence and terraform Qiu's kingdom into a beautiful autumnal maze, drawing out the Threeshard Princess to a battle on Jezara's terms. She was the centre of the art and the bait for a trap, safe under the distant but watchful eye of her Lioness. All she had to do was put up enough of a fight that she didn't get immediately captured.

Breathless Dead

Mosaic and Ember!

There's so much to say. Beneath the light of a single, unglamourous moon, beneath a sky of inaesthetic clouds and satellite stars, on a sad little hill with a boombox playing music you forget as soon as you've heard it, all of the mundanity and disappointment comes together to make something awkwardly memorable. A date night. Not a thing of romance and passion, but an unglamourous freedom to be mundane with each other. Here Empire only exists in dream and aspiration.

Dyssia!

"Of course, we are grateful for the removal of the Ceronians," said NBX-462. When had he - !? If he wasn't so obviously soft, small and harmless his sudden appearance would have been startling, but the tension of his appearance disappears as quickly as it came. Even a Biomancer wouldn't have been able to fit an assassin into the helplessness of that ball of wool.

You've just stepped out of your Plover and are on your way back to your room. It's kind of the perfect moment to catch you - plenty of people around but quiet enough that you can talk, you're already moving so it's not taking any of your time, you just had a rest on the way back up here. Perfect timing. "And of course, we will maintain our existing commitment to resupply your ship in full. But an opportunity has arisen in the form of that Esoteric there," he nods at the lethal little nightmare gun that you are carrying. "The Service would like to issue a formal request for that item - and I have been advised that it has been appraised at about the same value as the entire planet you were just on. If you would like to sell it to us, I have the authority to redesignate Portugal according to your designs for an interval of two hundred and fifty years."

Dolce!

At some point during the conversation, Iskarot picks you up. Light as a bag of wool, he lifts you over the counter and puts you on the stool next to him. Then he clambers, three-legged, over the bar and stands behind it so that he can serve you drinks as you tell your tale.

"I can tell you that there's no way your friends will evade Liquid Bronze militarily," said Iskarot. "Killing him wouldn't do it. I mean, he had a divination shrine set up just in case a three hundred year dead colleague should mysteriously return to life, and a commando squad who could find me on a trackless wild. He's a bloodhound and I don't mean that metaphorically. There has to be a way to use that against him but I can't for the life of me figure out what. Vesper would see it, though. She always knew how to get people to consume themselves on her behalf."

He tapped his fingers, brass and gold, on the counter. "Well, that's my request. You figure out how to give me... a week would be excellent, but I'd need at least a day. A day with Vesper and I can find out how to break this chase. But you'll need to get around your little nemesis for that - 20022? I don't doubt he'll be looking to make sure everything goes smoothly for Mr. Bronze, and while Bronze might not notice a day's delay I am sure he will."

Breathless Dead

The Star King!

The Weapon was perfect. It had never failed. It would never fail. The craftsman who had built it had worked back from this effect to whatever causes would make it so. But to kill with Regret meant having to be free from Regret; the faintest flicker of imperfection was like the line of water linking the wielder to the open power socket. All that power needed somewhere to earth itself.

The Weapon was perfect. It had never failed. It never would fail. This was not a promise, it was a threat. To wield it meant having to maintain the same perfection the weapon embodied. If this perfection faltered then, rather than allow itself to be stained, it erased the corruption from its own timeline.

The Weapon falls to the floor in front of the Star Kings. It was pure and untouched. It had never been wielded, a gift from the Gods. It was free to anyone who would pick it up. Of its former owner(s) there was only a fading memory. And a fear.

None of the Star Kings moved. Their pseudowolves shifted, uncomfortable and confused - they did not understand like their rulers did.

Dolce!

"Ha!" rasped the Ancient Craftsman. "You! I dreamed of you. Funny thing, isn't it? To meet a friend from a dream? Peach schnapps, please, and chocolate and chili pretzels. You know these bastards don't have the slightest taste for the finer things in life?"

He unbundled himself, bags of tools filling the chair next to him. Hestia sat down next to him, mug on the table - black coffee for her, she didn't even need to ask. "Do you remember our conversation? I told you how I sought to merge life and energy, stormclouds caged in matter? Well, here we are," he laughed. "Amidst the Funko Pops of my dreams."

He slammed the schnapps down, wiping his scarred lips with the back of his hand. "You - you wouldn't know that, that's a Liquid Bronze saying, the bastard. A man who was so right about his opinions he needed to re-invent his political opponents so he wouldn't have to change what kind of right he was. I worked with him on the Ikarani project now, I remember - well, he remembered. He's a man who forgets nothing and learns nothing. The moment the Underworld coughed me back up he sent his people to collect me so I could see how history had vindicated him. The Summerkind!" he laughed. "He solved the problem of energy based life burning through their physical shells by calling it a feature! He mass produced and militarized my malfunctioning prototypes! There's a genius to him, no mistake - nobody works harder than him towards the goal of avoiding work."

He pursed his lip and tapped his fingers on the table. "That girl - Vesper? I remember her now. I didn't have all the pieces before, I didn't remember, but... I left her in a bad way. I'd like to help her, if you can help me do that."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Aeglesia took the axes. She held one in each hand and briefly felt silly. She should have, like, a belt or a pouch or a big magnet stuck to her back or something for situations like this. She couldn't put these in her backpack, right? That seems super disrespectful. Well, she had a sheathe for her sword, so she was just going to have to stick one awkwardly into her belt where it'd flop around dangerously against her leg and hold the other in her hand all the time.

"Princess Jezera is a shapeshifter lioness," said Aeglesia, clinging to conversation topics she knew about and doing her best to keep eye contact (or, more realistically, throat contact, but oh wow that jawline...) "She's very mobile, but she's her to raid Princess Qiu's territory and to do that she's bought her retinue. You'll probably want -" there was hesitance in her voice, a girl about to choose the coward's path - but then she swallowed, gripped her axe more firmly, and filled herself with determination. "- You'll want to take Fallweaver! Fallweaver is Jezera's Baroness, she's a witch of autumn. She's not any good in a fight herself, but she creates all kinds of monsters to protect her. She wears a bright white lab coat and has black hair with an orange streak. She'll be wherever the trees are most, uh, autumny."

She knew even more - she was an avid reader of Princess Jezera's fan websites. Not because she really liked her - though she did! Uh, that was she liked her, the normal amount. But because she'd been opposition researching Jezera for an opportunity like this. She had to pick a Princess as her target and Jezera had seemed the least scary - and fighting a lioness felt like the most Roman thing to do.

"If you take her, then Jezera will come for sure!" said Aeglesia. "And I won't waste the chance you give me!"

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Hmm?" said Lancer. "Oh, sorry... I was just reading about a historical nation called "Nippon". Did you know their "Samurai" had blades called "Katana" that were folded over 10,000 times and could cut through the armour of modern main battle tanks?"

What had she placed her trust in? Perhaps it simply been herself - which was a frightening prospect. Everyone hedges, worries, calculates contingencies and backups - and in that split attention they create weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Every so often someone arose who did not have any of that hesitation, and they were the greatest and most terrible rulers all throughout history.

Perhaps, though, it was her books. That might somehow be scarier.

"I..." gasped Aeglesia, still touching her chin where Saber had held it. "I think that's a myth?"
"Nonsense, it's cited by numerous historians," said Lancer. "Now, the Varangian is right about the axe and the shield. Will you listen to her?"
Aeglesia fidgeted, looking down and holding the edge of her shield tighter.
"What about a "Wazikashi"? I read that those also pair well as an off-hand weapon." said Lancer.
"I want to fight as a Roman!" Aeglesia blurted out, staring at the ground and blushing.
"Hmm," said Lancer. She glanced again at the samurai illustration in her book, then sighed. "All right, we don't have time to fully retrain you anyway. But if you want to fight as a Roman you'll need sisters in the line; you have an implement for formation fighting and the formation will be essential. Varangian, we will both bear shields identical to hers, and we will cover our faces with helmets identical to hers. Though the rules prevent us from intervening directly, if the enemy pri - royal is confused and strikes at us by accident then we can get away with some aggressive self-defense."
"Really?" said Aeglesia, eyes sparkling. "You'll be handmaidens for me??"
"I think the term "Kosho" is more appropriate," said Lancer. "But anyway, no, we cannot demand the field of battle. It is part of the system here that Princesses -" she froze and looked at Aeglesia, who stared at her blankly. "- do not battle decisively unless stakes have been selected. So we must kidnap one of the enemy royal's "Kashin" in order to draw her out. You will handle this, I will prepare the field of battle."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Alright!" said Aeglesia, taking a deep breath. "Here I go!"

This was not an age that had forgotten its swordsmanship.

Aeglesia had been studying the blade since she was a child - most people do to some extent, it's part of gym class. If you're particularly into it then you can take various elective classes with your local blademaster - maybe the local Queen runs a course, or there's a Handmaiden passing through town who'll teach advanced techniques. Many kids study the blade to some degree or other, but to stick with it as long as Aeglesia has and taking the princess title... well, for all her nerves about being in a genuine war of spirits, she's also a regional bronze medalist in dueling.

That is to say that her bladework is good. She knows how to stand and how to move, she understands reach and distance, and she's even not entirely surprised by fighting someone whose size is unpredictable. Dueling is a mixed martial art where shapeshifting, magic and various unique heart weapons are all permitted so she's got an eye for tricks and is quick on the uptake. Even the fact that she's evidently not trying to kill doesn't seem to hold her back at all; the level of control she has over that in particular seems unreal.

So, a solid foundation. A perfectly respectable warrior. But it's definitely not enough.

The first reason she'll lose is because she's not a Servant - simple differences in experience, composition and raw power means that she's just not on the same playing field. The second reason she'll lose is because you're not wearing a shirt (isn't she cold? oh. oh yeah, okay, she is). The third reason she'll lose is an array of minor flaws, mostly coming from overthinking things and trying to come up with clever plays in situations when solid fundamentals would do her better...

But the main reason she's going to lose is the shield. It's a stupid weapon, a heavy Roman style tower shield made for formation fighting, and sized too large for her. She's out on a limb with it, too - it's clear that her swordfighting classes didn't involve the use of the shield, and what moves and techniques she does have are ones she came up with herself. But at the same time it's clear that this is where her heart is. She's inscribed the exterior of the shield with runes of health; an opponent who strikes them heedlessly will break them, invisibly weakening themselves until they're too sick to fight. That's a cunning move and you get the feeling there are a lot more ideas like that banked up inside her.

So the shield is at once her biggest limitation and the source of all her potential. Without it she's a solid 6/10 swordswoman and isn't likely to be any more than that. With it, she might flourish into a legitimate combatant - eventually.